


Laws of Interpersonal Attraction

by pottergerms



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, HP: EWE, Healers, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pottergerms/pseuds/pottergerms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about trying to find yourself and finding so much more during the journey. But in case you're more methodical than romantic, it's a story about Harry Potter studying to be a Healer, while he tries to forget Draco Malfoy is his roommate. It doesn't work. (Warning: wizard angst, fist fights, sarcasm at inappropriate times, too many book references and unexpected moonlit revelations included.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laws of Interpersonal Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic contains some thoughts on PTSD, anxiety and panic attacks. But don't worry, those are part of life, so it won't be just the bad bits. There's a lot of love and understanding coming your way! Because it's not about getting over your issues, it's about finding someone to help you live with them and just be as happy as you can.

"There are only three ways you could change roommates. One, if one of you die. Two, if one of you quit training. Three, if there's an explosion and the room ceases to exist."

Professor Smethwyck's face was red as a tomato. The man had some serious anger issues, and trying to question his decisions was a good way to end up in St. Mungo's as a patient, not as a Healer. And even though the last few months had changed everything in Harry's life, he still wanted to become one. A Healer, that is, not a patient.

In hindsight, it was all Hermione's fault.

. . .

"Harry?"

"In here!"

Hermione stepped into the kitchen, her hair in a messy bun, wearing Ron's favourite jumper, an ugly oversized _thing_ that, he suspected, was knitted by Hermione herself. They never talked about it. Anything she couldn't do well became taboo immediately.

"I'm just finishing some pasta. Are you hungry?" He said, grinding some black pepper over the saucepan, amazing smells filling the large room.

"Sure, I love your pasta, you know that," she said, a strained smile playing on her lips.

He finally noticed the stack of papers in her hands and sighed. She wasn't there to eat his food, obviously. Not during the week. Hermione was too much of a workaholic to _just_ visit a friend on the clock.

"What is it now, Hermione? You know I won't go back."

 _Leaving was the best decision of my life_ , he didn't say.

"Harry! Is that what you think of me?" She asked, sounding offended, but he knew better. He looked at her silently asking 'oh really?' and she smiled. "Ok, but listen to me first!"

He turned off the hob, cleaning his hands on his apron, a green flowery piece with the words " _Boy-Who-Baked_ " written in capitals. Buying Harry Potter-themed souvenirs was Ron's idea of a joke, and it irritated Harry to no end, but he had to admit it was a bit funny.

Hermione waited patiently while he prepared their plates, humming softly to herself. Sunlight was coming from the tall windows in the shabby kitchen, and she looked so young, suddenly. He wanted to hug her tight, but knew it would award him some worried looks.

Harry knew he was odd. Even if now he was a _tolerable_ kind of odd, and the panic attacks were mostly in the past. What happened when he was alone, curled into a ball in his bed, didn't count. The nightmares and the anxiety were a burden he had to carry alone.

To the world, he was completely cured. Gone were the days of the Daily Prophet spreads on his mental health. Maybe it was because he didn't leave Grimmauld Place unless he absolutely had to, but Harry liked to imagine people just got tired of his face. That was a comforting thought.

Sometimes, though, he got this heartache, this unbearable fear of _losing_ everything, and he couldn't hide it; he couldn't keep it locked in his bedroom with the rest of his secrets. In those moments, Hermione would look at him with so much _pity_ , and he hated her. In those moments, Ron and Ginny wouldn't even know how to react, trying to pretend Harry was ok, but failing, and he hated them even more.

"Are you ok, Harry?"

There it was, clear as day; concern with undertones of sadness.

"Yeah, I'm great," he said, forcing a smile. "Drop the bomb, then. I'm ready."

Jokes always threw her off the scent, because she was used to Ron, and when he started joking, things were fine. But Harry was far from fine, not that he would let her know.

"Stop being so dramatic," she said, managing to look stern and amusing at once. "I just remembered our conversation from last week and I agree that maybe what you need is a career change. So here's my suggestion."

Hermione took one of the papers out of the pile and laid it carefully in front of him. Harry realised it was an enrolment form for Healer training at St. Mungo's Academy. He looked up, ready to say that no, he didn't want to become a Healer, but something in her eyes made him stop.

 _You don't know what you want, Harry. You forgot how to want things_. That's what she was silently telling him. And it hurt and hurt and hurt, because it was true.

She looked concerned in a way that remembered him of his worst crisis; the one that made him accept help from mind Healers. To this day, her face was imprinted on his eyelids, with silent tears and a forced smile, telling him everything would be fine if he could _just accept help_.

"A Healer, Hermione? I don't know if I'd be good at it. And would they accept me?" He asked, knowing full well he would do anything she said, just to avoid that face. And under that fake nonchalance, his heart was beating fast and something in his gut was telling him he could want that. If he tried, that could be it. That could be his turning point.

"Don't worry about it. I spoke to Kingsley yesterday. He sent a letter of recommendation to St. Mungo's and that should be more than enough."

Harry couldn't help but cringe at the mere mention of the Minister. He didn't want special treatment ever again. He didn't want his life to resemble the month he spent pretending to be Auror material. Once again, his chances of having something normal were tainted even before he could grab it.

Hermione, being Hermione, quickly realised the problem. "Everyone needs a letter from a professor or mentor, I swear. I knew Robards wouldn't want to help you after _all that_ , but Kingsley respects you. And you do have the N.E.W.T.s necessary, Harry."

As relief ran through his body, he realised his jaw had been painfully clenched and his hands were still curled into fists. Embarrassed, he flexed his fingers and tried to smirk.

"Yeah, because you made me take more subjects than I had to."

"Well, I said you would thank me someday for keeping your options open. And you did all the hard work yourself," she said, the soft smile on her face resembling the one of a loving mother, even though she would hate that association. "To be honest, I never thought being an Auror would make you happy."

Harry sighed, tired, because he knew that. How could he forget, when they spent days on end in the library, studying until their eyes hurt? How could he forget, when Hermione without Ron as a distraction chose to discuss Harry's career choices over and over, until he felt like breaking something?

How could he forget, when he felt lost and restless without his own distraction? Without someone he wouldn't even think about, because that person wasn't even in Hogwarts, and was definitely not up to anything, he thought—he would like to know for sure, though. But it didn't matter; and he kept his thoughts about that person hidden at home, with everything else the world didn't understand about him.

"I know that, but it was something I had to try. Well, I did and I hated it."

"Let's forget about it, though. What do you think of Healer training?" She asked, sounding hopeful. "You would be great at it, Harry. And I know you hate living here all by yourself. They have great student halls!"

He had to admit leaving Grimmauld Place and getting to know new people was scary, but for the first time in a while, it was a good kind of scary.

"They do?"

"They do," she said, knowing full well she had won.

. . .

 The building in front of him looked like an abandoned warehouse, but he knew from pictures what was beyond the invisible wall put there to repel muggles. He knocked on the battered door, feeling a bit foolish.

"Full name, please." He heard from the other side.

"Harry James Potter?"

He heard the sound of cogs moving and the faint feeling of magic washing over him, and suddenly he wasn't standing near a shoddy warehouse anymore. He was looking at a beautiful victorian building, with five stores and more windows than he could count.

The double doors opened as a middle-aged man came out and stopped in front of Harry, who was still dazed, because magic never stopped being beautiful and surprising. The man was wearing adorned green robes, and had a friendly face that reminded him of Remus Lupin. He was a professor, Harry was sure.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. My name is Stamford Munch. Welcome to St. Mungo's Academy for Healers and Mediwizards. Did you have a hard time finding us?"

"No, it's just a few stations from my house on the Central line," Harry said, and almost laughed, because the man was looking at him as if he was speaking another language. "It's muggle transportation, it doesn't matter."

"Oh, come along then. We're about to begin induction, so just sign in, grab a welcome bag and find a chair. There'll be a ceremony, with refreshments, and then we'll have a tour. We'll finish it off by the Paracelsus hall, so you can find your accommodations and settle in." 

And Harry was even more surprised, because even though that man didn't know anything about the Tube, what he was saying sounded very muggle. He almost felt like a university student, which was insanely comforting. For a moment, he wasn't Harry Potter anymore.

But that didn't last long.

As soon as the doors opened, the beautiful interiors of the hall came into view, and Harry lost himself in the ornamented ceilings and tall windows looking onto a large patio with wooden benches, perfect for reading in the Summer. Before he could take in all the details, already imagining his life as a student, he started to hear the familiar whispers that seemed to surround his very existence.

" _It's Harry Potter!"_  

" _Is he a student? Harry Potter will be our classmate?"_

" _I thought he was an Auror._ "

" _No, I heard he was kicked out!_ "

That was the last thing he heard before he sat down, feeling numb. Reality came crashing like a nice bucket of ice water. Harry felt the signs of a panic attack, and he wanted to murder Hermione, because that was her fault. He was not ok, he was not ready for that.

Harry was breathing slowly with his eyes closed, trying to make all the anxiety go away, trying to keep himself from believing he was going to suffocate, when he heard a familiar voice say " _It's fine, count to ten with me. One, two, three..._ " and he forgot about the pain in his chest and counted, counted, counted.

When he felt the panic subside, he turned his head to look at the person sitting next to him, and he was surprised, even though he wasn't, because he could recognise that drawl even while having a panic attack.

"Malfoy?" He said, and it sounded distant, like someone else took hold of his vocal cords.

"Potter. I see you're feeling better now, so I'll just go back to my seat."

Harry couldn't find his voice, because Draco Malfoy was in front of him, after three years of not being in front of him, and it was surreal, so surreal. He looked good, his hair wasn't slicked back, and his face didn't say anything anymore. He was a blank, a mystery, and Harry knew right away he was doomed.

"You're welcome," Malfoy said, sounding sarcastic, albeit slightly embarrassed, maybe because Harry was staring. But sarcasm was familiar territory, and Harry smiled before he could contain himself. Malfoy's eyes went wide, the grey engulfing everything, and he went away before Harry could say something stupid.

A thousand different questions went through his head. What was Malfoy doing there? Was he going to be Harry's classmate? Why did he help Harry with his panic attack? Where was he for the past three years? How did he look so... healthy?

And just like that, his distraction, the person he just didn't talk about, was back in his life. 

. . .

The ceremony was short, and Harry didn't pay attention to everything, because his mind was busy thinking about Draco Malfoy. And that was not a tolerable kind of odd, so he had to fight it. He started mentally listing everything he remembered, hoping it would keep him sane until his eyes couldn't find Malfoy in the small crowd anymore. 

The course had four levels, he learned, and by the end of each of them, they would take a series of theoretical and practical tests. They also had a mandatory list of books to read and activities to do throughout the course. And during their last year, the students would become Healers-in-training at St. Mungo's, so they could have proper work experience before graduating.

And once again, Harry got that feeling he could become just another student there. Maybe, with time, people would allow him to ditch the giant, albeit invisible, " _Chosen One right here! Come and get a piece!_ " sign he seemed to carry everywhere. 

The tour was great. The patio was incredible, and Hermione would be jealous of the library. It was way bigger than Hogwarts's, and that was saying something. For the first time in a long time, he was interested in learning, not fighting evil. He didn't feel like that since first year.

According to Munch, his accommodation would be in the famous Paracelsus hall, the building on the other side of the patio, with its adorned pillars and tall mahogany doors. The ground floor had a large common room, with fluffy sofas, victorian coffee tables, and bright _electric_ lamps making it look warm and inviting.

He remembered when the Prophet announced St. Mungo's was one of the first institutions in Wizarding Britain to adapt electricity to work on magic, and after that, there were adapted appliances everywhere. They didn't use computers or phones, though, but that's because wizards were surprisingly conservative with their technology—Hermione was still trying to convince shops in Diagon Alley to sell pens and copy paper.

"The rest of the building consists of four ensuites and one communal kitchen on each floor. Each room will be shared by two students of the same gender, of course, and you won't be able to change rooms." Professor Munch said, looking pained. "Last year an intern told a student he would 'look into it' and, suddenly, there was a queue outside Student Administration, and everyone had a _great_ reason for changing rooms. That will not happen this year."

As Harry went up to the third floor, thrilled to check out his new room, he thought to himself it didn't really matter to him who would be his roommate, because everyone already had preconceived notions about him anyways and he was fine with it; he was good at making friends. As long as it wasn't…

_304_

_D. MALFOY / H. POTTER_  

No. Just no. Nope. Not in a million years. Nope. God, no.

He groaned, defeated. Obviously that would happen to him. Just when he was trying to turn his life around, when he felt a little hope that maybe, just maybe, the next four years would be uneventful, something catastrophic like that had to happen.

"Figures..." said the familiar and so so so unwanted voice behind him, with a humourless chuckle. "It's like we're on one of those muggle electric staircases and we're trying to go up, but it's forcing us down, isn't it?"

Harry couldn't move; he didn't understand a word of what Malfoy had said, and his brain was currently busy freaking out, because in what world would he survive four entire years sharing a 16" x 16" bedroom with Draco Malfoy?

"Potter, are you going to move today or should I call for help?" Malfoy said, his tone so sarcastic it brought him back to reality.

Harry twisted the doorknob and it opened with a faint glow, having been synced with their magical signatures already. He took in the room, with its twin beds at each end, twin bookcases and shelves, a large and fancy-looking desk under the large window, light blue walls with wooden panels and a door with a sign saying _Toilet_ in cursive, probably left behind by another student.

And even though he knew his life was about to change, he couldn't imagine the responsible for that would be the other occupant of room 304.

. . .


End file.
